


Where the Light Won't Find You

by carpfish



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: If
Genre: Adopted Sibling Relationship, F/M, Female Kamui, Pre Release, Pseudo-Incest, Speculation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-03
Updated: 2015-04-03
Packaged: 2018-03-21 03:36:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3675903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carpfish/pseuds/carpfish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Speculation fic written after the release of the 2nd FE:If trailer. </p><p>"If they must take her, she will make sure that it is a conquest and not a homecoming." Kamui must leave, and she is far from willing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where the Light Won't Find You

**Author's Note:**

> The trailer's been out for about two days, and I've already written fic. My depravity knows no ends. This fic will center on female Kamui (MU), under the (completely speculative) premise that she was raised by the Nohr Royal Family as a result of political adoption to solidify a peace agreement. However, now the time's up and she has to go back to Hoshido. As mentioned, all of this is all speculation and headcanon with little intent of being an accurate prediction of the game. Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy it, and the fruits of my overzealous, gung-ho, getting too excited about the new game while barely knowing anything about it! :)
> 
> The blonde Nohr paladin(?)'s name マークス is anglicized as "Marx" here.

The maids had picked out a beautiful dress for her; white silk and crimson chiffon, the same colors as Hoshido’s banner, as a sign of goodwill. Instead, Kamui dons a full set of armor and a cape as dark as night. She watches the stony set of her features in the mirror, and refuses to go smilingly. If they must take her, she will make sure that it is a conquest and not a homecoming.

It is hard to think that seventeen years have passed so quickly. The trek through Nohr’s steep mountain passes to the verdant plains of Hoshido is a long one, and Kamui has only made the full trip once before. She remembers falling asleep while basking in the mid-afternoon sunlight, watching the sea of wild grass sway beyond the carriage window. Then she had opened her eyes to shadows cast by jagged cliffs, chilly gusts of cold air whistling through chasms and into the hollow grey sky. Back then, the twisted spires and concentric walls of Nohr’s capital had frightened her, and she’d prayed to return to the familiarity of home.

Now, the slanted roofs and flat gardens of Hoshido hold no appeal for her, and the stony walls of Nohr’s citadels are the only place she’d call home. She slides her sword into its scabbard at her side, content with the soft hiss of metal against metal, followed by the dull thunk as its weight settles into place. Arriving battle-ready to a diplomatic gathering, especially one as important as this, is a severe violation of royal etiquette, but grace and manners are far from the first things on her mind.

“I had a feeling you would not go quietly,” a deep voice sighs from behind her, and Kamui’s eyes flicker up to the corner of her mirror where she sees Marx standing at her door.

She turns to face him rigidly, looking her older brother square in the eye. Her hand tightens on the hilt of her sword, thumb running against the ridges of its claw-shaped pommel. This weapon had been a birthday gift, from him. “Did you expect anything less?” She asks.

Marx sighs once again, slouching uncharacteristically, as if the crown prince’s circlet were a literal rather than figurative weight upon his shoulders. He comes close, and brushes an errant strand of hair from Kamui’s face, tucking it behind her ear in a practiced motion. His distaste for her long bangs has always struck her as unnecessarily fussy, and frankly hypocritical considering Marx’s own unruly hair. From this day on, she may never have to deal with Marx’s nitpicking again. Somehow, she isn’t able to draw even the slightest bit of mirth from this realization.

“The delegation from Hoshido has arrived,” Marx tells her, his touch lingering by the shell of her ear, as if he too knows that this may very well be the last time. “They’re in the main hall. We shouldn’t keep them waiting.”

“They will wait as long as they need to.”  Kamui jerks away from Marx’s hand, and tries not to show that she immediately regrets it when his arm drops stiffly back to his side.  

Marx’s expression is tight. These days, self-restraint is his constant companion, and Kamui can see the new wrinkles on his face. He used to look younger, she thinks, and she wonders whether she will be able to actually see him grow old. “I do not wish for you to go any more than you wish to leave. But there isn’t anything that can be done about it,” he says, and Kamui hears the same tone of voice that Marx would use when he had to scold Kamui for skipping classes when they were kids, despite the fact that he hated the tutor just as much as she did. Only, back then, he’d never sounded so sad or defeated. Once upon a time, she’d thought it impossible for Marx to ever be defeated.

Kamui can see the crease between Marx’s eyebrows and the faint rings beneath his eyes. He’s been losing sleep over this, as he is wont to do when distressed. It’s concerning, considering how little rest he already gets on a normal basis. She reaches out to tug on the sleeve of the dress uniform that she knows he hates, and in a quiet voice, she says to him, “If you know that I don’t want to go, why are you telling me to leave? Do you wish to be rid of me?”

Kamui knows how unfair her question is, and more importantly, Marx does too. The furrow of his brow deepens, and vulnerability seeps into the corners of his formal expression, faint crow’s eyes wrinkles appearing at the edges of his eyes. “Kamui, you know very well my feelings on the matter. But this is how things must be. Please.”

Marx takes her gloved hand in his, and guides her towards the door. “Please,” he repeats, voice softer this time, but still firm. “Your family is waiting for you.”

Kamui hears the briefest waver in his voice, as if the word had stuck in his throat. This is no mere matter, and they both know it. She lowers her head, white hair spilling across her face, but follows. “I already have a family,” she mutters, more indignant than despondent, and while Marx does not respond, she sees his Adam’s apple bob in his throat. Of course he agrees.

They walk towards the main hall side by side, shoulders nearly touching. The sound of their footfalls bounces off the high ceilings and ornate walls, and Kamui can’t help but recall how well these hallways have echoed the noise of playing children and screeching laughter in the past. It’s been seventeen years since she came here as a trembling toddler, the latest lynchpin in Hoshido strategic efforts to maintain its shaky peace with Nohr. Sometimes, when forging alliances, a bride can be as mighty as a blade. The idea had been to send a member of the royal family abroad in order to be educated by Nohr’s military experts, to learn the culture and form relations as a foundation for future diplomacy. An ambassador, Hoshido said. A spy, Nohr had said. In the end, to placate Nohr’s fears, Hoshido had agreed upon sending the least threatening emissary possible: their Queen’s youngest, a hapless three year old.

Undoubtedly, this plan may have been more effective had they chosen an envoy that actually possessed more than flickering half-recollections of Hoshido, who’d had the chance to actually learn Hoshido’s culture and take pride in their nation. As it stands, Nohr is the only kingdom Kamui holds allegiance to, its royalty the only family she’s ever known. But twenty years from birth marks the time when children become adults in Hoshido, and it had demanded that their political adoption be reversed; for Kamui to return home to Hoshido and become its official liaison with Nohr. Such were the terms of the adoption, and while Kamui knows that if would have done no good to consult a three year old on this, the thought still stings.

Before they turn the corner to enter the main hall, Marx pauses and offers Kamui his arm. After a moment of hesitance, she places her hand on the crook of his elbow. He looks down, and pauses. “I had always thought I’d only have to escort you like this on your wedding day,” Marx confesses, the corners of his mouth crumpling into a half-hearted smile.

Kamui doesn’t smile. She tightens her grip on his arm, and looks up at her older brother with dark eyes. “And I’d always hoped that you’d be standing at the end of the aisle.”

Without another word, they go forward into the main hall, and there is no turning back.


End file.
